


Spring Breaking

by Crystal_Chrome



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Budding Love, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Nerdiness, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_Chrome/pseuds/Crystal_Chrome
Summary: Spring Break is starting at Backupsmore U, and Fidds wants to party. Roommates turns to crush, and crush to like. Some family drama arises. Tags will be updated as I go.





	1. Paralyzer

Chapter 1 : Paralyzer  
Disclaimer : I own nothing  
  
  
College was supposed to be the best years of one's life. It was supposed to be the time when a teenager could escape to dorm life, away from the super strictness of parents, with parties every weekend, sexual experimentation, and all that comes in between. For Stanford, though, it was surprisingly underwhelming.   
  
Aside from the fact that he was at Backupsmore University, the place where intellect generally went to die, the rest of the list of dream college life was quite absent. At least, it was for people like Stanford. Instead of parties, there were quiet and often lonely study sessions in the library. In lieu of drunken nights, there was too much coffee. Instead of weird and copious sex, there was the odd awkward rendezvous that never quite turned into anything.   
  
Stanford quickly settled into a ritual of lather, rinse, repeat after trying for the genuine experience once or twice. He and his roommate Fiddleford had an unspoken agreement that the treats of college life were not meant for people like them, and that they were better off keeping their nose to the grindstone. For the first couple of years, it served them well. They both advanced quickly in their respective classes, always earning top marks and staying at the top of their year.   
  
On their last day before spring break, Fiddleford decided to change things up a bit. “Say, Stanford...”, he began, nervous despite the fact that he was not asking anything too strange. “Yes?”, Stanford replied, not looking up from the book he was scribbling notes into. “I was thinking that maybe, ah, maybe we could go somewhere tonight? Ya know, to celebrate!” Fiddleford was sitting at the kitchen table, opposite Stanford, his knee bouncing with anticipation. “I'm fine. Fiddleford. You go ahead though.” He answered, still not looking up.  
  
“Ah, c'mon Stanford! We never go anywhere!” he whined, pouting a bit. Stanford finally looked at his roommate, frowning. “Why would you want to? All there is to choose from are bars and restaurants, and we don't drink and have food here.” Stanford reasoned, turning his eyes back to his work, feeling the case was closed. Fiddleford slammed his fist on the table, startling the other man enough to drop his fountain pen. “Gosh darnnit, Ford! I always stay here with you, night after night, and we always just work and eat and go to bed! Spring break starts tomorrow, and neither of us are going anywhere for the week. Everyone on campus is either going on vacation, or going home. We'd practically have the town to ourselves! I want to go out, and you're coming with me!” He stamped his foot for emphasis at the end of his tirade, making Stanford chuckle, which only worked up Fiddleford more. “What?” He demanded, growing angrier as Ford broke into a heartier laugh. “S-Sorry” He replied, shaking his head. “You're like a petulant child when you get like this. Fine. Where did you want to go?”   
  
Fiddleford broke into a sunny grin, jumping to his feet. “There's a bar I want to visit! It has good music, and cheap drinks. Let's go get ready! Oooh, I'm happy as a pig in shit! You won't regret this!” And he was gone into his room. Ford sighed, and closed his book, gathering his notes and research materials. He supposed he'd better get showered and dressed. This was going to be a long night.  
  
\--  
  
The Proud Squirrel was sparsely populated, but chipper. Small tables took up one side of the large room, the other two thirds occupied by a dance floor and small stage for the entertainment. A long bar area stretched across most of the length of the building, a couple of bartenders busying themselves behind it.   
  
On the stage, a five piece band played some covers of currently popular music. Fiddleford shed his jacket and happily started toward the bar, calling to Ford on his way. “First round's on me! Whatcha havin'?” Stanford shrugged, and took his coat off as well. “Whatever you're having, I don't care.” Fiddleford grinned deviously. “You got it!”  
  
He returned a few moments later with a tray holding four identical drinks in tall glasses. “Is that chocolate milk?” Ford asked, surprised. Fiddleford smirked. “Much better! Not quite as good as 'shine, but it'll get you where you want to be pretty well.” Ford shrugged again, and took one of the glasses off the tray. The first tentative sip made Ford pucker his lips; he half expected chocolate milk. It did taste good though, and he finished the first one pretty quickly, reaching for the second one. “Ah-ah!” Fiddleford chided, shit eating grin on his face. “Not too fast, these things're potent.” Ford rolled his eyes and took a drink. “You wanted to come here, I came, let me at least enjoy the drinks. What are they called again?” He mumbled, flagging over a waitress, asking for four more. “Paralyzers.” Fiddleford replied, finishing off his second drink. He couldn't wait to see what the night had in store.   
  
\--

 

Several hours later, and Fiddleford and Stanford found themselves staggering back to their apartment. Fiddleford was holding himself up better than his roommate, whom he was half carrying, as Ford seemed to have lost the ability to move his right leg properly. When they finally made it through the door, Fiddleford dropped Ford unceremoniously to the floor. “Ow.” he said loudly, making no effort to right himself up. Fiddleford locked the door to the apartment, tossing his keys into the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. He stared at the bowl for a moment, realizing that wasn't where he was supposed to put the keys, but too drunk to understand why. He decided it wasn't important, and staggered to the couch. He flopped down onto it, on his back and watching the ceiling move in slow circles above him.   
  
Ford had managed to crawl over to the couch as well, and made the great effort of dragging his body up onto it. He succeeded in draping half of his body over his roommate, his face buried in Fiddleford's chest. Fiddleford didn't react to the closeness other than to throw an arm over his midsection, his hand landing on the back of Ford's neck, where his fingers started to idly play with the hair there. Ford groaned, and turned his head so he was facing the inside of the couch. “Fidds... I drank too much.” He said, feeling like he was going to fall off the edge of the world. He brought his hands up to grip at Fiddleford's shirt to ground himself.  
  
Fiddleford chuckled. “Yeah, me too, I reckon.” He answered, fingers moving to Ford's scalp, continuing to run them through his roommates hair. “That feels good...” Ford muttered. Fiddleford started a bit when he felt the hands that were fisted in his shirt start to slide up underneath it, gliding along the sides of his chest. Ford didn't move otherwise, or say anything beyond the odd groan. Fiddleford gave a last gentle tug on Ford's hair, earning a small moan from his very drunk companion. He reached down, grabbing Ford under his arms and pulling him up his body a bit.   
  
Ford looked up as his face was about level with Fiddleford's, moving his hands now out of the shirt, and up onto Fiddleford's shoulders. Fidds locked eyes with him, and they regarded each other in their drunken haze for a bit, before Fiddleford grasped Ford by the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a deep, slow kiss.   
  
Ford was confused at first, moving his lips tentatively against his friend's more eager ones, quickly discovering he quite enjoyed it, and opening his mouth when Fidds' tongue slid along his bottom lip. When Fiddleford broke the kiss, and held Ford's face away a bit to look him in the eyes, he was rewarded with a dopey smile. “I kinda always wanted to do that.” Fidds said, stroking Ford's flushed face. “I kind of like it.” Ford returned, the smile still spread across his face. Fidds started to pull Ford in again, but was interrupted when Ford's face became panicked, and he all but threw himself off the couch.   
  
Fiddleford, alarmed, sat up quickly, regretting it instantly as the urge to vomit rose up through his body. He sat back, fighting the nausea back, when he heard retching below him. He peeked down to the floor, where Ford had rolled halfway under the coffee table and was puking on the hardwood. Fidds reached a hand down and stroked it up and down Ford's back, trying to comfort him. When he was done, he dragged himself back onto the couch with Fiddleford, who immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for cuddles. “Sorry 'bout the floor...” Ford muttered, pulling his feet up onto the couch and starting to drift off. “S'okay. Go to sleep, love.” Fidds said, kissing the top of his head.   
  
It wasn't long before Ford's breathing evened out, and the snoring started. Fiddleford closed his eyes, a smile crossing his face before he drifted off into sleep himself. He got to kiss Ford, and he liked it! Hopefully he wouldn't regret it in the morning...

 


	2. Morning After

Chapter 2 : Morning After  
Disclaimer : I own nothing

 

 

 

It was well into the afternoon when Ford finally rose from his alcohol induced sleep, the smell of bacon frying hanging in the air. He sat up, his head throbbing, and looked around groggily. Fidds was at the stove cooking breakfast, and he hadn't noticed Ford was awake yet. He tried to croak out a good morning, but he found his mouth was very dry, so instead he made a beeline for the bathroom so he could get some water from the faucet, and maybe drink a gallon or two. He knew he was dehydrated, that before anything else, he should get some water down. He vaguely remembered getting sick...  
  
When he returned from the bathroom, he found Fidds sitting on the couch, a plate of food in his lap, and one in his hand. He held it out to Ford with a smile. “I figured you might want some greasy hangover food. Especially since, y'know, you were sick, an' all”. Ford took the plate from his friend, his eyes to the floor, noting that the vomit had been cleaned up already. “Thanks”, he replied, looking up. “For everything. You didn't have to... clean up after me, though.” He finished, his cheeks flushing.   
  
Fidds waved Ford's comment away with his newly free hand. “Not at all. Was my fault anyway, I made ya go out, after all” He said with a chuckle. He tucked into his food then, but said with a mouthful of egg, “Didja have fun?” He swallowed. “At the bar, I mean.” He added hastily, shooting a quick look sideways to Ford. “Hm? Oh, yes. It was quite enjoyable.” He replied, as he cut up the bacon into smaller pieces. Fiddleford chuckled again. Ford was so proper, always. He found it endearing.   
  
Now came the hard part. “Say, Ford? I, uhh, was wonderin' if you remembered what happened... after the bar.” Fidds kept his eyes on his plate as he asked. Ford chewed his food slowly, and swallowed before he answered. “The part where you had to practically carry me home? Or when I got sick?” “Yeah, I guess around that time,” Fidds answered, slightly crestfallen. “Or are you wondering if I remember that you kissed me?” He asked, neatly placing his utensils on his plate, turning to look at his friend.   
  
Fidds flushed, but he met Fords' eyes. “Yeah. That.” He answered. Ford held his gaze, his face unreadable. “Of course I remember, Fiddleford. It was, ah.. my first kiss.” Fidds expression turned to one of panic. “Ah shit, Stanford. I didn't mean to.. I didn't know.. I'm so sorry!” He murmured, covering his face with his hands. Ford regarded him a moment, put his plate on the coffee table, and reached out to pull Fidds' hands away. Fidds turned his head away instead.   
  
“Fiddleford! Look at me” Ford gently commanded. It took a moment, but he finally met his eyes again. Ford smiled gently, before leaning in and touching his lips to Fiddlefords, whose eyes went wide, before he eagerly returned the kiss. Ford pulled away, taking Fidds' plate off his lap and onto the coffee table with his, before wrapping his arms around his roommate. Fidds beat him to the punch, though, and grabbed Ford, one hand around his shoulders, the other behind his head, and mashed his lips to Fords.   
  
It was clumsy, and messy, and just right. Fiddleford was the first to pull back, Ford grunting in displeasure. “What? What's wrong?” He asked, fixing his glasses. “Ford, I think we need to to slow down and talk about this first.” He said, trying to catch his breath. “What about it? We're kissing. You like it, I like it. What's there to talk about?” He almost pouted, and Fidds had a hard time not laughing at him.  
  
“I just want to talk about what this,” He pointed his finger at himself, and then at Ford. “Actually is.” He finished. “Do you not like me?” Ford asked softly, disappointment rising. “Yes! I mean, no! Damnit, I do like you, Ford. That's what I want to figure out, is do you like me too? Or is this just a passing whim? Because I don't think I have it in me to be your occasional make out buddy or booty call.” He said, gauging for his reaction. Ford huffed. “Of course I like you too, you knucklehead! I wouldn't have kissed you, otherwise.”   
  
Fidds relaxed, and smiled. “Oh.. well, good.” He finished lamely. Ford wrapped his arm around him again, and leaned down onto his shoulder. Fidds kissed the top of his head and leaned into the snuggle, content. They sat in silence awhile, just enjoying each other's company, before there was a knock at the door. Ford stood first, padding his way across the room, mumbling about who would actually visit them, before opening the door.  
  
“Stanley?!” He asked, shocked, before the visitor could say anything. Fidds rose, ,concerned by Fords tone. On the other side of the door stood Ford's twin. He had heard of him, of course. The story of how Ford ended up at Backupsmore U was brought up every time another school was mentioned. Honestly, Fidds thought Ford was being a little hard on his brother, considering this happened years ago, and that Ford had a brilliant mind no matter what school he went to. But that was neither here nor there, and Stanley was definitely here, and uninvited.   
  
“How did you even find me?” Ford demanded. “Mom told me the address.” Answered, looking down. “I, uh, had nowhere else to go. My apartment kind of got demolished. I guess the landlord didn't pay his bills, and the place was a shithole, so it got torn down. I just need a place to crash for a little bit, just until I can scrape together a months rent for a new place, and I'm gone, I swear!” He was practically begging. Fidds could see the desperation in his eyes. Ford already had his mouth open, and Fidds could see the 'no' forming on his lips, so he jumped in before Ford could vocalize. “Of course ya can stay! Any brother of Stanford is a friend of mine!” He boomed, making his way to the twins, and taking the ratty duffle bag Stan was travelling with into the apartment. “We have a real comfy couch, and all kinds of food, not that Stanford's much of a cook.” He added, sneaking a peek at Ford's face as Stan almost reluctantly made his way into the room. Ford looked a cross between livid and confused. The result had turned him almost purple. He closed the door, strode into his bedroom, and closed the door.   
  
He didn't slam it, but the click of the catch echoed in Fidds' ears. He knew he was mad, but he'd get over it. He looked at Stan, who was still standing awkwardly in the foyer. He plastered as welcoming a smile as he could muster onto his face, and gave a very grateful Stan the 'grand tour”.   
  
A few hours later, when Ford still hadn't come out of his room, Fidds was starting to get worried. Realistically, he knew Ford should be angry. But at the same time, Stan, who was currently napping on the couch, was family. He understood that inviting him in without discussing it was done too hastily, but he reasoned to himself that if the situation were reversed, Fidds himself would get over his initial anger and at least act civil, until his brother could get back on his feet. It was spring break, they would both be home for a week to be with Stan, to help him find work or an apartment.  
  
Ford would move past this, and not hate him for it. Wouldn't he?

 


End file.
